I wrote this in my Grade 13 year in Art class (‘Early 1986). It wasn’t an assignment, just something I chose to write near some doodles of a loon.

—

The cry of the bird

The beauty of the bird disguises the pain

But it’s call is not heard anymore

Unless you go north where it is slowly but surely disappearing there too

The pain is not that of the individual bird but that of the species

It cries out but nobody listens

The beauty is lost

Who can find beauty in a world of pain

Goodbye beauty

Goodbye bird

Goodbye pain

There is nothing left to feel the pain

Its life is over

The bird will not sing for our grandchildren

There will be nothing but a flying animal that they may some day read about in a book

An illusion on paper

That sings no songs

Feels no pain

Perhaps it may have beauty

But it is not the same

It is not the same.